The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1887-09-18
CHAPTER VI.

q CHAPTER VI.
In the autumn that followed | CHANGED to
pass the town of -, which.was but a
few miles from Valley Field. the home of
Josie's husband. Realizing how near was
to my cousins, and how uncousinly it
seemed to pass them, yet could not make
up my mind to trust myself there. While in
this state of indecision | recognized Mr..
Wallace on the platform, and could not,
with politeneSs, refuse his very pressing
wish that | should drive home with him. l
had but the half OF day at my disposal
1t was evidently most pleasant surprise
to my cousins. Josie-looking very beauti-
full and very happy-told me how much it
grieved them that | had seemed estranged
from them, my nearest of kin. That they
both regarded me as a dear brother and she
begged that the old relations might be re-
newed, and hoped that / would often come
and spend my Sundays and holidays with
them. And Bessie agreed with all she said.
Though she did not look changed or sad, yet
the grave sweetness of her manner lent her
new charm could not quite make her
out. And somehow felt happier when l
went away. 1t was much to have seen her,
and to know that, at least, she was not
broken in heart. She could not be There
were no traces of q hidden sorrow on her
open face. She was not in the least like
expected to find her after such a blow. The
result of this visitor was it but the result
of my unconquerable loneliness2-was let
ter in which laid bare my heart with its
lost hope | said she should know, and
then if she chose we should be friends
could not afford to lose the preciousness of
her society, if | might enjoy it sometimes
and could she not let me hope for her love
some time in the future! | was at Har-
wood Place, where | had gone for a weeks
rest when | received her next letter. the
fifth, in my package.
-, Dec. 2, 1S-
Ny Dear jeffrey Since your short
visit to Valley Field in the autumn. have
been thinking very much of our happy
past, and of what perfect confidence existed
between us. And | have been won
dering if it We're through anything
that l have done that it exists no
longer. Or is it but the natural
course of things in this strange world we
live ins Do all friends, as they grow older,
and miss the fresh enjoyment of their first
youth, grow colder too, and find new inter
ests, form new ties! | do not like to think
so. Or at least, if the new ties must be
formed, that the strength of the old ones
should lessen. Yet | must not complain.
Though our former intimacy seems quite
broken up, l have felt,your kindness in many
ways. But for that you know, | should not
now be enjoying a delightful independence.
How delightful only those who have been
used to work hard for the barest living can
understand If you had not, in your never
failing thoughtfulness, taken the trouble to
look into our affairs. should never have
known that it belonged to me- Iwish | had
known it before my brother died, that he
might have had more comforts. Shall |
ever, ever learn to be resigned for him.
What especially calls forth this letter
which will, OF course, surprise you-ls this:
Mrs. Craig has been ON a visit to her daugh-
ter who lives in the adjoining town. She
came to see us yesterday. She asked me, in
the course OF our talk, il had ever been to
HARDWOOD Place since it had passed out of
the family. Seeing the pain in my face
the thought of that precious home in
stranger hands must always bring, she
said quickly:
you know that Jeffrey HARDWOOD has
bought it. In his hands the place is trans
formed from almost wilderness to its
former stateliness. 1t is indeed handsome
property. drove through the grounds a
few weeks ago. and notice that Jeffrey has
faithfully remembered your brothers rather
odd fancies. The arrangement is, with a
few minor exceptions, exactly what it
was when you lived there. or course you
know that he owns the place, and spends a
week down there occasionally. but thought
he might not have told you how he had inn
proved it, and knew you would be glad"
Gladl o, dearest cousin, how can thank
youi TO know that it belongs to a Har-
wood is very much. But the tender tribute
to his memory!-that touches my heart in
its tenderest place. | shall thank You all
my life! My letter might end here, as our
life at Valley Field, though full of interest
to ourselves, floats on in an even. hum-drum
way. But you asked me of Edith when you
were here, and have something beautiful
to tell you of her. You know that since
have been here she has been matron in a
hospital. She was with us week ago.
81 never thought, Bessie" give you her
own words, that should ever come to find
so much peace in this barren life of mine.
have my heart set on one object, and
have almost saved enough to begin the
work. / want the old home where Harold
died torn down and Children's Home built
on the same spot. Mr. Temple has been very
kind in helping me TO plan for it, and an I'M
known giver, whom | suspect to be your
cousin, has contributed very generously. So
that the work need not be delayed. The
chapel will be memorial from me. | shall
spend my life there, and when / go to and
fro among the poor little ones. shall bear
him in my heart alwaysw
Edith is a queenly woman. A tremor in
her voice made me look away, but in mo-
ment she was herself. She was standing by
the window looking out far away--as If her
gaze were not bounded by the green fields
outside. looked again at the grand
black-robed figure, at the chastened
beauty in the proud face. And thought
of the day when she had seemed grand in
her pride and anger. Yes, Edith Is a
queenly woman. A woman any man would
be proud 10 win. l half wonder, watching
her absently, if she might not outlive this
great sorrow, and be happy woman yet.
When she speaks again ! see how, in That
half admitted thought born Of her beauty.
/ had wronge1 her rare faithfulness. had
not taken in the beauty Of the sacrifice she
Is making. had not remembered that she
never loved children.
81 think II bad had a child OF his she
said, II should have devoted my life b. that.
Since have not, / viii adopt these homeless
little ones: and some one Of them may
creep intosny empty heart, and make the
waiting less lonely.
o. how lovely my brothers life might
have been, aud VIA not The graudest man
! ever knew, 20 have loved SUCH woman AZ
Edith, and never ~ have known how tIlie
a. .